


The Drowning King

by jury



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Asshole Spanking, Choking, Coming Untouched, Desperation, Face-Fucking, Incest, Knifeplay, Large Cock, M/M, Nonconsensual Hair Cutting, Obsession, Overstimulation, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference, Spanking, Unwilling Arousal, Verbal Humiliation, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: After making an attempt on his half-brother's life, Kir finds that beyond the crown prince's stoic demeanor lies a long-hidden obsession.





	The Drowning King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonconamod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonconamod/gifts).



> Thanks to El for beta.

Kir's hands were cold against the stones of Arckadi's chambers, his forehead pressed down against them. Arckadi was standing in his full dress armour at the table, bright enough in the light that it broke apart and scattered across the room. There was blood on his gauntlet, drying dark against the metal. His tabard was spattered with it too, over the embroidered lake, dotted like dark, reflected stars. Arckadi put down the letter on the table and moved his hand down against the hilt of his sword, fingers tight on the pommel. Kir put his head down again, letting the curtain of his hair hide his face. Heavy steps started towards him, then ceased.

"I don't even need to question you," Arckadi said, and the weight of the disappointment in his voice was enough to make Kir's stomach clench. It harkened back too far, to when he had been able to look Arckadi in the eye without wanting to put a dagger there instead.

"This has your signature all over it," Arckadi said, pacing closer. The sound of his sword rang out against the air. "Although with more incompetence." 

Kir bit his tongue and kept his head bent. Arckadi would reprimand him and then set about ignoring him again — that was, if he didn't bring the sword down. Kir could hear him breathing heavily. He had fought every second of the way here, struggling against the iron grip of Arckadi's guards. They'd needed three men to carry him after he had almost bitten one of their ears clean off. There was no regret in his mind, but perhaps he had overstepped. Poison had been a bad choice. Somehow he had noticed the flick of Kir’s sleeve over Arckadi’s cup as he sat down. Next time it would be a knife, and the sound of him gasping for breath would be a dull ring in the back of Kir's mind as he sat on the throne. 

"You have to obey the law," Kir said, voice muffled by his hands.

"But not you?" Arckadi said, the tip of his sword landing next to Kir's face. He could feel the chill of the blade radiating against his skin. He slid his eyes across; he could see the colour of his hair reflected in the clear steel, the blotch of muddy brown marring the blade. The last time he had seen Lake's Edge — only an hour hence — it had been dark with blood from point to hilt. It unnerved him to see it so clean.

"I've never broken the law," Kir said, and it didn't taste like a lie. Arckadi was alive, wasn't he? He bit his tongue again as Arckadi stepped closer, the weight of his armor seeming to bow the stones. 

"Never succeeded," Arckadi said, and reached down to grab a fistful of Kir's hair, pulling his head up and off his hands, mercilessly tilting it up until his neck ached with the strain. He had once been taller than Arckadi. That seemed like a dream now. When his eyes met Arckardi's, they were dark enough with anger to send a real spike of fear down his throat. Arckadi's grip tightened, the back of his gauntlet scraping against Kir's scalp. "Say please," Arckadi said.

"What?" Kir said. "No."

"Is this a childhood jape to you?" Arckadi said, one hand drawing Lake's Edge close to Kir's exposed throat, the chill of metal burning against his skin. "This is what you tried to do, isn't it?"

Kir swallowed, his throat flexing against the stinging edge of the sword. "I — "

"Don't talk," Arckadi said. "I'm considering if I should kill you or not."

"The law," Kir said, voice a croak against Arckadi's silence. The blade fell away and he could breathe again, his chest fluttering. Arckadi let Kir's head drop again, holding his hair by the ends until his scalp burned, then dropped him with a rush of air, his head bouncing against his hands and hair settling soft around him. "You have to let me choose."

"Death or servitude," Arckadi said. "Do I even have to ask?" He sheathed Lake's Edge and went back to the table, his heavy step echoing against the stone wall. Kir raised his eyes.

"Servitude," Kir said, against his hands. Arckadi sighed. 

"I didn't even get to ask," he said. "Stand up."

Kir bowed his head against his hands, then stood, lifting his head slowly. The weight of his hair didn't follow, slipping away from his head and remaining on the floor. He couldn't comprehend what had happened, his hair lying in a pile on the floor, shorn off and resting limp against the back of his neck. He patted at it with shaking fingers. "What have you done?"

"You're in servitude now," Arckadi said. "Take off your clothes."

"What?"

"You look ridiculous," he said, placing Lake's Edge on the table with a deliberate thump. "You look like a whore dressed as a prince."

Kir raised his chin. "Do you speak from experience?"

Arckadi crossed the floor in two steps, seizing Kir's throat, each finger pressing deep into his flesh, the ridge of his gauntlet pressing into Kir’s chin. Kir choked, halfway between breaths, a high-pitched wheeze escaping from his throat. He scrabbled at Arckadi's impassive wrist, the muscles in his forearm locked tight. He could only look forward, the edges of his vision darkening, his eyes locked onto Arckadi's. Kir's chest was seizing, the air absent despite his attempt to breathe. He couldn't read Arckadi's intentions in his eyes. There was nothing there except deep anger, a hot counterpoint to the cold metal clenched around Kir's throat. Kir coughed, pathetically, eyes rolling back in his head, and Arckadi dropped him, turning away with a contemptuous curl to his lip. Kir landed on his hands and knees, his cheeks burning with blood as he tried to breathe, huffing shallow breaths as he tried to stand, staggering from one foot to the other. One hand strayed to his throat, stroking the raw skin there. He couldn't make his eyes focus. "Arckadi," he said, and his voice was rough and breathless. 

"What," Arckadi said. Kir couldn't find the words to respond, buried somewhere beneath his sternum. _You've never hurt me before_. Well, the obvious response to that was _you did it first_. Instead, he bowed his head, hand reaching up to try and make sense of his hair, the uneven edges brushing against his neck and making him jump. When he looked up, Arckadi was looking at him, the full dark edge of his gaze travelling along his neck. Kir looked down again, and then reached behind himself, undoing the ties of his shirt and shrugging out of it, his pants following, the stiff linen crumpling gracelessly to the floor, covering the lake sigil on his shirt. The air was cold around him, raising goosebumps on his arms and peaking his nipples. "Come here," Arckadi said, beckoning brusquely. Kir went. The closer he was to his shining presence, the more he thought he should be kneeling on the floor against the sheer weight of his royalty. _I'm a prince too_ , he thought, but it was difficult to maintain that thought without the brush of his hair against his back. 

"Take off my gauntlet," Arckadi said, and Kir went to the task, hands sliding against the seam, but unable to find the catch, scrabbling up and down the unforgiving metal, searching for it, his fingers and nails finding no purchase. Arckadi was staring down at him with impassive eyes, allowing him to struggle with no reprieve. The moment seemed to stretch on and on, until Kir felt he would cry from such a small failure, tamping down the feeling inside. Arckadi shook him off and stripped the gauntlets from both hands with practiced ease. "Do you think I need a manservant with no skills?" he said. Kir raised his head and set his jaw, trying not to flinch or shiver. Arckadi stripped off the rest of his armour with none of Kir's hindrance, his underclothes dark with sweat. Lake's Edge was on the table, within Kir's reach, but the moment his eyes alighted on it, Arckadi turned to him. "Are you thinking of finishing the job?"

Kir shook his head. There was blood on Arckadi's jaw, and Kir's hand jerked, either towards or away. Arckadi moved against him, reflexively, hand snapping out and seizing his wrist, clasping Kir's wrist so hard his knuckles went white. He stumbled back, but Arckadi's grip was so tight that he was able to pull him back again without effort. When they were young, they had always done the same things, but when they'd grown apart, Kir had stayed with his books and Arckadi had moved into the training yard, almost to the point of eating and sleeping there. And it showed in the definition in his arms as he pulled Kir back, the movement of his muscles under the skin. Kir's pulse was racing against Arckadi's palm, but his thumb was stuttering over the back of Kir's hand in a strange counterbalance. 

"When you try again," Arckadi said, pulling him close enough that Kir could feel the angry heat of his body and smell the richness of his sweat. "Do it properly. If I die by your hand, I want to see your face." 

"Again?"

"Don't bother lying," Arckadi said, releasing Kir's hand. The marks of his fingers were white against Kir's skin. "I know you too well." 

"Kill me, then," Kir said, "if you think I'm going to try again."

"I said you're going to _try_ again," Arckadi said. "Perhaps you'll be as useless at that as you are being to me right now."

"I won't," Kir said, lowering his chin. He was unable to keep his eyes from flicking up to meet Arckadi's. There was no belief there. Kir didn't even believe himself.

"I want you to see the world like I do," Arckadi said, turning away. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, eyes downcast, pensive. Kir could see the sharp blade of his nose, interrupted by a previous break. His eyelashes were long and dark against his skin, but they didn't soften his features. Kir was unfamiliar with Arckadi pausing to think, his eyes distant with contemplation. More often than not, Arckadi was keen and decisive without hesitation. 

Kir tried to calm himself, eyes alighting on random parts of Arckadi's chambers — the dark wood fixtures, the tall posts of the bed holding aloft a dark blue canopy, Arckadi's battle armour on a stand in the corner, dark steel hidden in the shadows. 

"If you just listened," he said, reaching out and turning Kir's face back towards him with the gentle brush of the back of his finger. His touch lingered still, for a moment, until Kir reached up and batted it away. Arckadi moved his hand down to his side slowly, but the anger in his eyes was kindling. Kir could feel it. It wasn't how things were meant to go. Arckadi didn't care about anything Kir did. Arckadi had never cared about anything Kir did. 

He had made his decision. Arckadi grabbed Kir's shoulders and pushed him back. He stumbled, cold feet unable to steady him on the stone. 

"You can't do this," Kir said.

"I'm not going to kill you," Arckadi said.

"I don't believe you," Kir said, voice cracking.

"Why?" Arckadi said. "Do you think you can't be of _any_ use to me?"

"Do you need a manservant who can't undo a gauntlet?" 

"No," Arckadi said, and began to advance on him. Kir was trembling like an animal preparing to run. _He_ was meant to be the predator. He was the one who had almost taken Arckadi's life. The bruises on Arckadi's face — he had put them there. The same with the blood on his neck. Kir squared his shoulders and Arckadi tensed in turn, body responding to Kir's movement. 

"Are you going to fight?" he said. 

"I — " 

"I wouldn't mind," Arckadi said, and Kir got one last look at the whites of Arckadi's eyes before he was upon him, body crashing into his. He fell backwards, but instead of his head cracking on stone, it bounced on soft, cold sheets, Arckadi's hand reaching up to close around his neck again, ignoring the struggle Kir made to get away, cloth bunching in his hands. He thrust himself backwards but Arckadi was too quick, and too much bigger, his limbs sliding along Kir's and then pinning him still, his hand squeezing gently around Kir's neck, the juncture between his thumb and first finger pressing hard against Kir's neck, until he was forced to be still or lose his breath again. Arckadi's knees bracketed his hips. The sheer heat of his body was overwhelming; Kir reeled backwards, his throat moving softly against Arckadi's firm grip. 

"If I'd known you had such ambition," he said, dipping forward until his face disappeared from view, his lips moving near Kir's ear instead, "I would have indulged you long ago." 

Kir tried to speak, but Arckadi pressed a little further, until the air Kir was allowed was reduced to the minimum. He tried to go still, like a creature playing dead in the forest at night. He could smell the faintly floral scent of Arckadi's hair, dark and glossy and smooth where it pressed against his cheek. He was dizzy, head spinning. He couldn't help making a desperate noise, and Arckadi lifted his head, looking at his hand around Kir's neck like he was surprised to find it there. Arckadi released him, and Kir gasped for breath, each one seeming not to fill his lungs. 

"I'm not ambitious," he said, voice cracked and ruined.

"Be quiet," Arckadi said, pulling Kir up from under him with seemingly no effort at all, the heat of his body receding. 

"I'm — " 

"I said _be quiet_ ," Arckadi said, his grip harsh on Kir's arms as he flipped him over, pushing his face down into the brocade cover of the bed. Kir thrust his hand back, but it found only open air. Arckadi put his hand on the back of Kir's head and Kir took a gulping breath in preparation, but Arckadi's hand was gentle as it pushed into Kir's hair, running his fingers along his scalp and behind his ears, then along his neck and down along his ribs, until Kir was covered in goosebumps and trying to twitch away. He didn't know what Arckadi was doing, but he could hear the tremble of his breath. Kir rolled his eyes to the side until they ached, but he still couldn't see what was happening. All his instincts were telling him to fight, but he had no chance. He could only lie still. There was a soft sound, like the shift of cloth on cloth. 

"Arckadi," Kir said, muffled. There was no response, but Arckadi's hands returned to his sides, warm fingers resting along his ribs. They moved lower still, along his hips and then across the swell of his ass, where they rested. Kir trembled, his breath becoming a pant. "What are you doing?" he said. For a long moment there was no response. 

"Have you ever been fucked?" Arckadi said, and pulled down Kir's underwear at the same time, exposing him to the cold. His tone was conversational, as if he was asking Kir what he thought of the weather.

"What?"

"I think you'll grow to enjoy it," Arckadi said, and then both his hands vanished from Kir's body. Kir wiggled forward, but one hand grabbed his thigh, grip bruisingly tight, while the other smacked down across his ass, leaving a hot, burning mark behind. Kir shrieked and tried to push away, but Arckadi dragged him back, a second stinging slap overlaying the first, the sound of it ringing in the air. The sensation seemed to dissipate; the sharp pain didn't linger, but Arckadi didn't allow it to fade, striking him again and again. Kir could feel his ass quiver with each strike, the sharpness of the pain fading into a deep warmth, then a burn. He was too shocked to move, but he could feel the effort Arckadi was putting into the force of each hit; the way the bed swayed with the impact. 

"Stop," Kir said, finally, his voice quiet and pressed into the blanket. Arckadi's rhythm was implacable; his hand felt more like wood than flesh. "Stop," Kir said again, forcing his voice louder. His eyes were wet, hands scrabbling at the bedclothes. Something about the rhythm was making Kir's head spin, each rhythmic smack putting him more and more off balance. His mouth was wet too, dampening the covers below his face. The next slap landed at the bottom of Kir's ass, right where the curve began, and it stung against his muscle. He cried out, then pressed his face deep into the fabric, body tensing in anticipation, but nothing came. Instead, Arckadi's hand dipped under the fringe of his hair and wrapped around Kir's neck again, but the press was gentle. His hand felt huge and burning hot; the knowledge that it had been the one striking him made him try to get away, but Arckadi was too big, and his grip was too firm. Kir turned as best he could, catching a hazy glimpse of Arckadi's face, his cheeks red with effort, his hair almost coming out of its tie. 

"I'm giving you a choice," Arckadi said, and it wasn't his usual brusque tone. He sounded out of breath, his voice low. 

"Let me go," Kir said.

"That's not the choice," Arckadi said. His voice was commanding, and it made Kir want to shrink in on himself. He had to fight the urge. "Where do you want my hand?"

"Why don't you shove it up your ass?" Kir said. Arckadi's hand didn't move, just sat curled around Kir's neck. He could feel the coiled energy in it, waiting to strike. 

"That's not the choice," he said again.

"I'm your _brother_ ," Kir spat, and then Arckadi's hand spasmed, fingers digging into the sides of Kir's neck. Kir began to laugh, but it was a hacking laugh; Arckadi cut it off. "Maybe that's _why_ ," he said. Silence was his answer, but he could feel the tension in the air. His ass was still burning red hot, Arckadi's right hand creeping over to press against his own fingerprints. Kir gasped, and the left hand clenched around his throat. 

He was floating, then, somewhere above the bed. He thought he could see the crown of Arckadi's head, the contrast of his hand against his skin. Someone was talking, but he couldn't hear them properly. Sensation dropped away and then, as he was released and dragged back down, it magnified. 

"You've never been able to make good choices for yourself," Arckadi said. "So from now on I'll be making them for you."

"Fuck you," Kir said. "I'll kill you."

"You already tried," Arckadi said. "If you try again, I'll think it's the punishment you want." His other hand was roaming restlessly over Kir's ass, pressure alternating between light, delicate touches and strokes, to gripping it firmly and releasing. He could feel the beat of blood rising to the surface. Then he felt Arckadi raise his hand, the soft movement of air coming in a rush. Kir knew what was coming, but his mind was slow and fuzzy, and when Arckadi's hand came down, Kir wasn't prepared for it to contain the whole of his bruising strength. He was pushed forward on the bed, crying out with a wounded note as the pain flared and peaked, the whole of his mind concentrated on that one part of his body. Arckadi's rhythm was different. Between each stroke he would rub at Kir's bruised flesh while Kir's eyes leaked onto the bed below him. It must have been ten or fifteen more before he paused again; Kir couldn't count, his mind unable to hold onto numbers or thoughts.

"Don't you want me to stop?" Arckadi said. 

It took Kir a long time to figure out what Arckadi had said — too long. Each moment he took to think was punished with another bruising smack to his ass, Arckadi bracing himself with a hand pressing down against the small of Kir's back. He had forgotten that he had a choice — that he could make Arckadi stop just by pushing a small syllable out with his tongue. It almost didn't seem to make sense that Arckadi _would_ stop. He became aware that with each blow he was pushing his hips down against the bedclothes and then raising them again, pushing up to receive the next. 

"Stop," he said. Arckadi reacted immediately, hand reaching up to encircle Kir's throat like a heavy necklace of gold, tight enough to constrict his neck. Arckadi leaned over him, his clothes brushing against Kir's skin. He didn't feel as hot anymore, because Kir's body had matched his temperature, his heart thumping against the front of his chest hard enough to hurt. Arckadi's voice was at his ear again, his breath warm and soft.

"There's something I've been thinking about for a very long time," he said. Kir's mouth was open and wet. He couldn't bring himself to close it. He could feel the pressure of Arckadi's lips against his ear, and shivered as his tongue delicately traced the outside curve of Kir's ear, a gentle reminder of teeth following. "Do you want to try it too?" 

Kir made a noise — it didn't matter what it signified, because Arkadi took it as assent. His vision was blurring with tears and he could only make the slightest noise from underneath Arckadi's hand. He was floating again, watching Arckadi take Kir's hand and raise it to his face, briefly rubbing it against his lips, dipping the fingers inside his mouth. Kir almost couldn't feel it the sensation, dwarfed by the hot throb of blood in his ass and the wheeze of breath trapped in his lungs. Then Arckadi released his throat and he crashed down again, just in time for Arckadi to fit each of Kir's hands on his own ass, fingers pressing down into the cheeks and pulling them apart, exposing him to Arckadi's gaze. He could feel it on his hole and clenched out of reflex, making a protesting noise. Even though his throat was free, it still felt constricted, his breaths unable to fill his lungs. "Don't move," Arckadi said, and it was both a threat and a promise. 

Kir did as he was told, because although he was as good as naked now, Arckadi was still clothed and there was the silver shine of a dagger at his belt. He feared feeling that in his back more than anything, no matter how much he wanted to move his hands. He was tingling with humiliation, washing over him in waves. He pressed his face down, closed his eyes and tried to not think about it — tried not to feel Arckadi looking at him, but the sound of his breath, the smell of his sweat and the power of his gaze were overwhelming. He couldn't help pushing his hips down against the bed and pinning them there. He was half-hard against the bedclothes but he was trying to ignore it. Maybe Arckadi wouldn't notice. It wasn't — Kir wasn't — it was just because of the sensation. He could feel his own burning flesh under his palms.

Arckadi raised his hand — Kir saw the shadow of it flick up the wall and tried to shout _no_ , but it was too late, the flat of it coming straight back down and slamming directly onto Kir's hole. He wailed, hands slipping free, but Arckadi caught him by the wrist, squeezing so hard he felt the bones creak, and replaced them without a word. Kir was trembling with anticipation. If he was optimistic, maybe Arckadi's curiosity was satisfied. It was a fool's wish — his hand came down again, striking against Kir’s hole, and Kir began to feel that same bruising heat spread deeper down inside him, the rim of his hole burning with it. He couldn't help jerking his hips forward, the faintly wet slide of his cock against the bed just a necessary distraction from the pain and nothing more. 

Each further smack amplified the feeling until his hole felt hot and swollen, his hips being pushed further against the bed, his thighs flexing with the movement. He was sweating now; he could feel it in the crooks of his elbows and the backs of his knees. His head was floating. The sensation of Arckadi's hand against his hole was too overpowering to let him think. He could hear him speaking, but the sound just slid over him, none of the words making any sense. He was drooling against the bedclothes, his whole body lax and soft. The rhythm was so perfect and absolute that he wanted to push back into it, raising his hips to meet it. It didn't even hurt any more — or it did, but the pain felt good, somehow, like it was so overwhelming it had confused his body entirely. Then Arckadi stopped, even though Kir hadn't asked him to, and he made some insensate noise, blinking until the room came back into focus. Arckadi's hands were on Kir's, pulling them away from his ass. Kir cried out as the pressure on his hole increased, his hips stuttering. It felt good and bad at the same time. He didn't know how to react.

"Get up," Arckadi said, punctuating it with a soft slap to Kir's behind. He put his hands on the bed and pushed his head up, but Arckadi reached out and pushed him down again. Kir didn't have the strength left to resist. He couldn't tell what Arckadi wanted, raising his head again. "Just like this," he said, big hands wrapping around Kir's hips and pulling him to his knees. One stayed on his hip, fingers pressing in deep, while the other slid around. "I've rubbed myself raw thinking about this," Arcadi was saying, and he pushed his clothed groin up against Kir's ass, the roughness of the cloth abrading his skin. That wasn't right — he always remembered Arckadi's clothes being fine and soft. "I always told myself I'd stop, but I never did." He pulled Kir's hips back with a sudden jerk, until Kir could feel the length of his hard cock pressing against his ass. He made another insensate sound. It felt huge and thick — certainly bigger than his own, which made his gut twist with sudden humiliation — and that thickness was intimidating. There was no way it was going to fit. That thought was wrong, but it wouldn't leave his head. He wasn't accepting this. He didn't want this.

"One day you'll get hard just from my touch," Arckadi was saying, his belt buckle and dagger jabbing painfully into Kir's skin as he leaned forward, hand smoothing over Kir's hip and towards his cock. Kir tried to move away, but his grip was too strong. "For now, it's all right that you're soft — " The back of his hand nudged the underside of Kir's hard cock and Kir gasped. For half a moment, Arckadi was still and silent, but then he began to quiver, hands trembling. Kir caught his breath and held it, unable to even anticipate what was happening. Arckadi's hand vanished and then came back too fast, slapping against Kir's straining cock. Kir yelped, and Arckadi flipped him over, the world spinning in a flash of too-bright colour, and then his mouth was on the tip of Kir's cock, the sudden, wet stimulation too much. His hands were pinning Kir's hips down, scraping his ass against the blanket, which felt like it was made of brambles. It took him a moment to realise that Arckadi wasn't sucking his cock, but _tasting_ it, eventually ignoring it completely in favour of where it had left wetness on his stomach, licking him in hot, wide-tongued strokes. Then he turned him again, effortlessly, nails raking down over his ass and onto his thighs. Kir sobbed helplessly against the blanket, reaching back to hit at anything he could find, his hand just brushing the side of Arckadi's face.

"Don't lie to yourself," Arckadi said, spreading him wide again and exposing his hole. He waited for the blunt, dull pain of Arckadi forcing his cock in, somehow, but instead there was nothing, and then a warm puff of air without warning. Kir twitched and felt Arckadi laugh, and there was a dark, fond note in it. Then something hot and wet laved against him in even, short strokes. He couldn't tell what it was as it moved against him, pushing him towards the divide between pleasure and pain until he couldn't tell what he was. It dragged against him with a pointed tip, and then he realised it was Arckadi's _tongue_. He cried out and jerked into action, making it halfway across the bed before Arckadi grabbed him and pulled him back, pushing back between his cheeks and stabbing his tongue against Kir's hole, trying to open it up. A wider, blunt pressure followed — one of Arckadi's fingertips pressing against him. The pressure felt good, like pressing on a bruise, and before he knew it he was shifting his hips back against it, feeling wet and sore from both the stretching and the rasp of Arckadi's chin against his tender flesh. "You want this just as much as I do."

"I don't," Kir said, surprising himself. "You're disgusting."

"If you think this is disgusting," Arckadi said, breaching Kir with the tip of his finger, "how hard do you get when you like something?" 

"I'm not," Kir said, and Arckadi grabbed his cock again, almost on the verge of painful, but it was the same mixed sensation. 

"You're as wet as a girl," he said, fingertips rubbing over the tip relentlessly, until Kir was gasping from overstimulation. He was almost on the verge of coming, he realised with a start, the nerves in his body completely confused. Everything was beginning to feel good. Each point of contact was betraying him. His balls were drawn tight against his body, and Arckadi's hand found them, touching them gently. "When was the last time you came?"

"I'm not telling you that," Kir said, through gritted teeth.

"That's fine," Arckadi said. "I'll just imagine it." 

"Don't," Kir said. Arckadi gently squeezed his balls, causing him to gasp, and then released him. 

"Was it by yourself or with someone else?"

"By myself," Kir answered, and turned away, hiding his red face against the blanket. He was anchored by the press of Arckadi's hips against his ass. Every time he tried to shift away, he was pulled back.

"Why did you answer so fast?" he said. "Because you want my hand, or because you're afraid of it?" 

"I — "

"Don't lie to me," Arckadi said, and although his voice hardened, he put his hand back on Kir's cock, gently stroking wetness down from the tip, the point of contact so light it made Kir shiver.

"I didn't say anything," he said, words slurring into a groan.

"You're not a good liar."

"I am."

"Not to me," Arckadi said, and pinched the skin of Kir's stomach just above his cock. He jumped at the pain.

"You're just like your father," Kir said, pushed through his teeth. Arckadi went still and silent, and pulled away from him, the air cold on his bare skin. Kir swallowed, his throat clicking. There was no response from Arckadi, except for the soft sound of the dagger being unsheathed. Kir closed his eyes, waiting to feel the slide of steel into his skin, but nothing came. Arckadi turned him over again, his touch bizarrely gentle in counterpoint to the look in his eyes. 

" _My_ father?" he said.

"I'm not — "

"I said don't lie," he said. He moved, then, faster than Kir had expected, straddling his chest and putting the knife against his neck. "Do you think you've escaped the taint of our shared blood? If anything, you proved tonight that you haven't."

"I'm not like — "

"You tried to kill me," Arckadi said. "Not even him — me! I would have done anything for you if he had died."

"My mother told me I'll never sit on a throne while you live," Kir said. "Isn't that what the knife is for?"

"No," Arckadi said, reaching down to unbutton his pants and free his cock. "That's to make sure you don't bite." He pressed it against Kir's cheek, and he couldn't escape from the heat or the smell of it, the tip of it wet against his skin. Kir closed his lips and pressed them tight, but Arckadi wasn't deterred from his path, pressing the tip of his cock against his lips. "Do I even need the knife?" he said. "I can see in your eyes that you want it." 

Kir shook his head, and Arckadi increased the pressure on the knife until Kir had to open his mouth, tongue sliding along the side of Arckadi's cock. Arckadi gasped, barely restraining his hips from jerking forward. His eyes closed and he reached down, briefly squeezing the base of his cock — to keep from coming, Kir realised, and the realisation sent a spike of arousal down to the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching. Arckadi was distracted, pushing down into Kir's mouth, and didn't notice. Kir hoped he didn't notice. There was something about the weight of Arckadi against his tongue, the smell of him, the tension Kir could feel in his thighs and arms, and the way he was so, _so_ hard, as if any slight movement would set him off. That was good — one good suck and Arckadi would come and be done with it.

But that — Kir almost didn't want that. Some part of his mind was still occupied by the sensation of Arckadi's tongue dragging across the flat of his hole, which was hot and sore and — open, a little bit open, and he felt empty where Arckadi's fingers had pressed and then retreated. 

"Get me wet," Arckadi said, and grabbed Kir's hair with one hand, gracelessly pulling his head into position to push his cock down to the back of his throat. Kir choked, gagged, and Arckadi retreated, just long enough for Kir to catch a breath before he pushed in again, the head of his cock pressing deeper each time, his hips rolling in a sinuous rhythm. Kir closed his mouth around Arckadi's cock, and he responded by pricking his throat with the knife, but all Kir wanted to do was push his tongue along the underside and then suck, just to see what Arckadi would do. There was no way he could escape, or bite, but the way Arckadi gasped, his hips jumping forward and sliding, Kir's throat opening around it as it slid down, occupied his entire consciousness until he could think of nothing else, feel nothing else except the cock forcing his mouth and throat open, demanding his compliance. 

He could taste the slickness of it against the back of his tongue, Arckadi's skin pressed right up against his mouth, and he couldn't help rubbing his tongue on the underside. He couldn't breathe and he didn't care, his eyes rolling up in his head and his muscles going lax as he just lay there and let Arckadi take ownership of him — he was just a thing to be used for pleasure. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and Arckadi released the knife. It fell with a dull thump to the bed, and he reached up and untied his hair, a long, black curtain falling down his back and brushing at Kir's skin. 

Kir choked, tried to gasp, but it wasn't possible, his throat flexing around Arckadi's cock. It felt enormous, straining the corners of his mouth. A king — but Arckadi wasn't king — but he _was_ , but he would be — was only meant to unbind his hair for his wife. He was going to pass out. He was going to pass out and he wanted Arckadi to keep going, keep fucking his throat even if he was unconscious, to come on him as he pleased, spank and fuck his body until he woke up wondering what had happened. He rubbed his thighs together, clenching them. Arckadi pulled back and Kir coughed and inhaled so fast his head spun, thoughts crashing back down. 

"You will see a throne," Arckadi said, and he was gripping at the base of his cock now, teeth gritted. Kir's mouth was open, tongue protruding, and for a moment he thought Arckadi was going to come across his face, and he wanted to taste it — wanted to swallow it down. He closed his mouth. That wasn't right. He didn't — he had never wanted that. "You will sit on the throne next to me."

"No," Kir said, but Arckadi was stripping off his clothes, and under his left arm, across his ribs was a tattoo of Kir's crest, the heron amongst the reeds, interlinked with his own, the rising moon reflected on the water. He reached to touch it and flinched back, but Arckadi only shifted slightly so make it more visible. It looked — old, healed completely and settled against his ribs like it had been there all his life. Kir touched it, his fingers tracing along the outer circle, where the edge of the heron's wing ended. He moved away from Kir and finished undressing, his legs thick with muscle that Kir didn't share. Kir began to shake, and he couldn't move his eyes away from the thickness of Arckadi's cock and how it was wet from his mouth and the colour of it. It was so hard, straining, and it looked like it hurt. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," Arckadi said.

"No," Kir said.

"I'll do anything you want," he continued. 

"Let me go," Kir said, but it turned into a whine as Arckadi turned him over again, smacking him hard on the ass.

"I'll do anything you want if I believe you really want it," he said, and Kir couldn't help laughing, but cut himself off as Arckadi pressed his thumb against his hole. His hips lurched back against it, trying to fit it inside. Arckadi was right — that was the worst part. He was starting to want it. Not want — need. He needed Arckadi to fuck him. Kir didn't even care if it hurt; he didn't care if there was no pleasure in it. Then there were two fingers pressing in, searching around inside him, wet with something. It was like Arckadi had complete possession of him. There was no longer any need to ask. "Tell me if you're going to come," he said. 

"I won't."

"You will," Arckadi said. "If you don't come on my cock I'll fuck you a hundred times until you learn." He removed his thumb, then, and replaced it with two fingers, stretching Kir with no regard for the yelp of pain that followed. He was still sore from the spanking, and it made that hurt grow and settle until the hum of it just felt normal, a beating warmth. 

"It hurts," Kir said.

"No, it doesn't," Arckadi said, and scissored his fingers, curling them up inside Kir, who groaned. His body was a vessel for Arckadi, who was stroking his fingers along Kir inside, establishing the same rhythm as before. Again, it went right to his head until Kir was spreading his legs to give Arckadi better access. His other hand was stroking behind Kir's balls, along the sensitive skin there, and he could feel his cock leaking onto the bed. He didn't normally — it wasn't — he was so _wet_. Arckadi finally touched something inside with a soft sweep of his fingers that made Kir's mind end, every part of him that was still thinking _this is wrong_ falling away as he shoved his hips back, trying to get more of that stimulation. It was washing over him in waves, and he needed more of it. 

"Ask me to do it and I will," Arckadi said, pressing hard on that spot inside Kir. It _hurt_ and he cried out, but the pain was translating into pleasure inside him. He was panting, his head spinning. He was completely overstimulated, feeling like he didn't fit inside his skin. Arckadi wouldn't stop, wouldn't give him a break, pushing a third finger inside him and waiting. Kir was rocking his hips back against Arckadi's hand, but he was sliding his fingers away from that spot, refusing to stimulate him at all. But Kir could live with that — he'd lived on less. Just the sensation of his swollen hole stretching around Arckadi's fingers felt good. "Ask me to do it," Arkcadi said again, and he was begging. "Please, Kir."

"I'm going to come," Kir said, his balls drawing up tight against his body. His hands scrabbled against the bedclothes. He didn't know what to do. He was about to come on his brother's fingers, and it felt so good he knew he wouldn't be able to live without it. He wouldn't run from Arckadi. Kir would be here tomorrow, and the following day. Arckadi didn't need to give him a throne. He'd kneel on the ground at Arckadi's foot gratefully, and his cock would never go soft just from the anticipation of what he'd be asked to do. He'd suck Arckadi's cock in front of the whole court just for the pleasure of it. 

All stimulation ceased, Arckadi pulling his fingers out and sitting back on his heels. Kir whimpered and turned around, his cock pressing hard against his stomach. He turned over and wriggled his way down the bed, pushing his ass against Arckadi's cock, trying to line his hole up, reaching down. Arckadi smacked his hand away. "You come on my cock or not at all," he said. 

"Fuck me," Kir said. "Please, Arckadi." He reached down again, the tremor in his hand reaching all the way to the shoulder. Arckadi grabbed his hips and Kir could feel bruises forming under his hands. He wanted them. Any mark Arckadi could give him would be one he would gratefully receive. Arckadi pulled him forward and lined his cock up with half a second's grace, pushing in all the way in one unforgiving thrust. Kir cried out, his voice breaking across the ceiling. If what Arckadi had been doing with his fingers had been the most pleasure Kir had experienced, this was ruining that memory, making it seem weak in comparison. Arckadi’s cock was huge, stretching him mercilessly, and the pain felt _good_ and he wanted more of it. _My king_ , he thought, before trying desperately to quash the thought. Arckadi rolled his hips, pulling Kir down with hard pressure. _My king, my king!_

Arckadi bent him in half, pushing his legs up to his chest, stretching them wide and driving into him, sliding out and then pushing forward again, the full length of his cock knocking the breath out of Kir each time. His eyes were tilted up, his body being _used_ , and he knew if he looked down and saw it was Arckadi between his legs he would come.

"I've been thinking about this for years," Arckadi said, and Kir could hear in his voice that he was holding back, and that wasn't what he wanted. Everything Arckadi could give him was something he wanted. Kir knew he could handle any of it. "I'm going to do everything I've ever imagined doing to you. You'll never wear clothes again." His hips stuttered, hands roaming over Kir's body, but staying clear of his cock, rubbing at his nipples until they were red and raw. "I'm going to tie you up and make you come every way I can think of until you beg me to stop."

Kir shuddered. "I won't."

"You think you can stop me from tying you up?" Arckadi said. He tightened his grip on Kir's hips and pulled out, then pressed himself in again, slow, so Kir could feel every inch of him sliding in. It felt like he would never end, until his hips were pressing against the hot flesh of Kir's ass. He leaned forward, his hips grinding down, his hair falling down in a soft brush against Kir's chest, his dark eyes gleaming. "I want you to try." His face was so close, his hips still moving in a slide inside Kir, who felt bruised from the pressure of Arckadi's cock, each thrust pushing right over the spot inside him. 

"No," Kir said. "I won't beg you to stop. You'll reach your limit before I get anywhere close to mine. If you pass out you'll wake up to me fucking you." Arckadi gasped and grabbed Kir by the throat, pushing his head up and then leaning down to kiss him, his tongue huge and overwhelming, feeling like it was taking up his whole mouth, demandingly probing inside. Kir bit him, and Arckadi jumped and bit him back, sinking his teeth into Kir's bottom lip. Then Kir was coming, his cock jerking uncontrollably, come shooting up between them and landing hot over his chest and neck. He went slack and insensate, every part of his body throbbing, but Arckadi didn't stop fucking him, still rolling his hips deep inside. He would never be able to survive with the memory of this happening without wanting it again. Kir would kill anyone that stood in his way. He squeezed down around Arckadi's cock, thinking about how he would do it. He'd fuck Arckadi across the throne while his father's corpse cooled on the ground. He started to laugh. Arckadi moaned and leaned down to kiss him again, and this time when Kir bit him he came, and Kir could feel it, the heat of it shooting deep into his body. Arckadi collapsed on top of him, his weight pinning him to the bed.

He carefully pulled his cock out of Kir, but kept his fingers there, pushing in softly to feel the edges of his hole, pushing his come back inside when it started to leak out. Kir's head lolled back, his vision darkening. Arckadi was still running his fingers over the rim of his hole when he passed out. 

*

Kir woke, parting a veil of dark thoughts. It took him a moment to recollect where he was. Alone, in Arckadi's chambers, under a blanket. His whole body ached from head to toe. The memory of what he had done — and what had been done to him — settled over him, and he closed his eyes. How could he have been such a fool? He would never entertain submitting to that brute. Arckadi had been stupid to leave him here alone. Being close to him was too dangerous. There had to have been some kind of spell or poison involved. Nothing else could explain his behaviour. He gasped with pain as he moved, his hole stretched and sore. There was a sudden urge to push his fingers between his legs and find that spot inside him and stroke himself to spending in Arckadi's bed until he returned, so that he would be ready for Arckadi to push in, wordlessly, grab his arms and pull him back against his cock until he came again and again.

No — it was some kind of madness. He had to escape while he had the chance. Kir slid out from underneath the covers, and made it three steps out of bed before the chain around his ankle pulled tight. _Bastard_ , he thought, retreating back to the bed. Kir touched his nipples; they were were hot and the stimulation ran right down to his cock, which was hard and heavy between his legs. _Bastard!_ He'd kill Arckadi for this. This time he wouldn't hesitate. Right after Arckadi fucked him, he _would_ kill him. Or maybe after twice, or three times. He shoved his fingers into his hole. Yes, three times would do it.


End file.
